


How Sadie Got Her Nickname

by secretsofluftnarp (luftie)



Series: Boudoir Stories [1]
Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, F/M, Femdom, Masochism, you tell me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftie/pseuds/secretsofluftnarp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotional masochist Frank is anchored by a firmly loving Sadie.</p><p>The first in what I hope to be a series of Boudoir Stories, of what the Doyles get up to when left entirely to their own devices.</p><p>This story owes much inspiration to "Brandy, Daquiris, Scotch, Martinis" by arsenikitty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Sadie Got Her Nickname

Frank was kneeling, which was novel. At least, he was kneeling on purpose, rather than staggering over from a particularly good bout of drinking. This kneeling was a relatively new thing, when it came to him and Sadie and things that happened in their bedroom.  
  
He was also naked, which was not a new thing, insofar as Sadie and the bedroom were concerned. Sadie had tied his hands behind his back, his ankles together, and his hands to his ankles. When Sadie had proposed this, he was thrilled, and toasted her ingenuity with a particularly nice Scotch. Sadie, thrilled that Frank was thrilled, had exclaimed that she was going to truss Frank up like a turkey (no! a duck! no! a pheasant!). Which was adorable for her, and just embarrassing enough for him that he felt it in all the right places. Plus, he could no longer reach the Scotch, which was a testament to just how much he trusted Sadie.  
  
Sadie was looking at him with an intensity usually saved for very important questions ("where did I put my glass?"). She was wearing lacy underthings and a corset and heels, which she made seem like the most natural thing in the world, because of course she did. She also looked impossibly gorgeous, because of course she was.  
  
"Well yes, what _kind_ of slap," Sadie mused, gently stroking the side of Frank's face. She elongated the vowel in slap in idiosyncratic Sadie fashion -- slaep? -- and Frank adored it. "There's the 'oh you've been a naughty boy, I waggle my finger at you' slap, the rougher Stern Schoolmistress slap, the 'you dastardly villain, I never want to see you again in my life' slap --"  
  
"A few notes shy of a dastardly villain, please." Frank heard his own voice sound like he was ordering a drink, and that didn't seem appropriate. What he wanted was for Sadie to slap the attitude right out of him, until he felt that he barely existed but for her. He wanted her to call him the worst thing she could think of, just to show that she had that power. He attempted to say as much.  
  
"Frank-en-steen," Sadie said firmly. "That was not part of our agreement."  
  
Only a few things hadn't made the agreement. Sadie had refused let Frank call her 'mistress' --"I'm not your downtown dominatrix or your French 'other woman,' Frank. Call me Sadie," she had said -- which raised the question of whether she had known about Frank's downtown dominatrix, the one he had abruptly stopped seeing after he and Sadie met. In retrospect, the marks on his back, visible the first time they undressed each other, had likely given him away. He had blamed them on a fight with a monster -- he didn't remember what kind of monster, which means the story likely didn't sound remotely feasible, and thus Sadie had known his proclivities all along.   
  
When they first started sleeping together -- an alcohol-fued haze of mutual adoration and very pleasant noises -- Sadie had subtly indulged his masochism. Not every time, but when the mood appeared to strike her, or she noticed his need. It would be a tight grip on his hair, a high heel pressed purposefully into his thigh, but especially her throaty chuckle when she dug her nails deeper into his back.   
  
Once, when he had been inside her, she had begun to slip on the satin sheets, and gripped him impulsively, to steady herself. But when she saw the change in his face -- that his gasp was of both pain and pleasure -- a low laugh rose in her throat and she dug her manicured fingernails in deeper. She dragged her nails down his back, and he was helpless in the moment. Sadie had nicknamed him 'Frank-en-steen' after the involuntary, guttural moan he had made when the pain forced his climax. The claw marks on his back lasted three days; he had called her Sadistic.  
  
The nicknames stuck.

But now Sadie was unhappy, and Frank wanted her to be happy infinitely more than he wanted any fantasy of his to come true. Or this fantasy of his was inextricably linked to her being happy -- he suspected that was the case.  
  
"Sadie, I apologize. Sometimes I think I dislike myself nearly as much as I adore you."  
  
Sadie used the top of her foot, lightly, to turn his chin upwards. "I suggest an adjustment."  
  
Frank nodded.  
  
"Things on which we agree: Sadie is correct."  
  
She didn't specify an instance or a topic, and it didn't matter. "Yes," Frank assented.  
  
"And Sadie thinks that Franklin Delano Rigby Doyle might _feel_ terrible, but he doesn't want to _be_ terrible. He wants to be a good boy. For Sadie."  
  
Frank couldn't ever recall feeling so many emotions rush into him, and with such speed.  
  
_I'm not a dog. Am I? For you, I would be. I would curl up at your feet by a roaring fire after a long day of frightening away those who would dare dream to do you harm, but that isn't what you mean. Because boy-Frank, literal boy Frank, was not and has not been good, he's been haunted by nightmares that he knows he deserves. Frank the grown man sighs at every nagging spirit he encounters, himself weary and restless for the comforts of home, but the boy-Frank inside is sighing from relief, because around every shadowed turn he knows they're lurking, coming for him, because he shouldn't have been one of the boys who lived._  
  
Young Frank had once believed in absolution -- "go forth, my child, and sin no more" -- but grown Frank, who was now committing to third-person narration of his internal monologue, did not. But if there was anyone on earth who could convince boy-Frank that he was not only safe, but loved, and somehow deserving of the ocean that was her heart, it was her.  
  
Sadie was gently running her fingers through Frank's hair as he knelt, pressing the side of his face to her bare thigh. Frank thought there was something escaping his eye, making the skin of his cheek wet where it pressed against her leg, and he wasn't sure how that had happened. Her voice was a low hum, gentle and encouraging, repeating those words. _Good boy._ "Yes," Sadie said, a little more firmly, "you just come along with Sadie -- pun intended -- and it's going to be all right."  
  
Sadie lifted his chin with a finger, until his eyes met hers. "I _will_ hurt you," Sadie warned, "but only with my hands."  
  
Frank let the sentiment lie still for several moments, because it was beautiful, as intended, as she had meant it, that his emotions were safe -- but it did beg a question. "Only?"  
  
Sadie burst out laughing. "Oooh, quite right! Not  _only_. There's the paddles, naturally, and the whole host of implements from the equestrian supply, and the points of some very high-heeled shoes, the slap-and-tickles, the tickle-and-slappers, and some very nice wide leather belts, the back of a hairbrush -- Frank! I do believe we could go for weeks and never do the same thing twice."  
  
"Sadie, while I admire your dedication to novelty, I would watch that show even in reruns."  
  
"Frank. What do you say I tie a piece of leather in your mouth and flog you like a pony, so that you can get obscenely aroused and I can tell you afterwards how good you've been and how you mean the world to me?"  
  
"Is that what you want?" It was both an honest question, and a challenge.  
  
"Desperately."  
  
"Then come over here and make me like it."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know if I neglected to tag something.


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